


Umbrellas 2.0

by TearStainedAshes



Series: Jumpers and Scarves [4]
Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Confusion, Emotions, Erotic Dreams, Fluff, Rain, Sherlock actually sleeps, happy feels
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-10-13
Updated: 2013-10-13
Packaged: 2017-12-29 08:11:41
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,722
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1003038
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TearStainedAshes/pseuds/TearStainedAshes
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>John takes Sherlock out for a walk after his return, much to Sherlock's chagrin.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Umbrellas 2.0

**Author's Note:**

> So I had to rewrite Umbrellas in order for it to fit the storyline of my Jumpers and Scarves series. It's basically the same as the original Umbrellas, just with more tacked on at the end.
> 
> Inspired by this post from Imaging Your OTP: post/45913035289/  
> And this wonderful piece of Reapersun art: post/10349040184/

'Sherlock, it's supposed to rain. Take the damn umbrella,' John sighed. Sherlock had been back only a few months, John had only been living with him again after his breakup with Mary for half that time, and John still sometimes did double takes when he saw Sherlock in the kitchen bent over the microscope or perched in his chair or sprawled across the sofa. Sherlock was currently pouting in his chair, coat and scarf already on. He knew it was supposed to rain but he refused to carry the umbrella.

'No,' he growled, sinking further into himself. John sighed in frustration, pinching the bridge of his nose between his fingers.

'Why the hell not?' he demanded.

'Why do you think?' Sherlock shot back.

'Oh my god, Sherlock. Just because Mycroft carries an umbrella does not mean every umbrella is evil!'

'I don't care,' Sherlock pouted. 'If it reminds me of my brother I automatically hate it.' John groaned in exasperation, running his hand down his face.

'Fine. If you won't carry one, I will. But if it starts raining don't come crying to me.'

'Fine.'

'Fine.'

'You already said that.'

'I don't care. It's all fine. Now can we go? Please?'

'Remind me why I agreed to this again?'

'Because it is spring and you need to get out of the flat and stretch your legs every now and again.'

'Spring my arse,' Sherlock grumbled. 'It may be sunny but it's still cold. Barely ten degrees out.'

'It's warm enough. Now, get off your arse and let's go. And put your phone away. I'm not going to have you texting Lestrade for cases or Molly for organs. This is so you can clear your head, get some exercise and some fresh air, and think about something else other than how bored you are.'

Sherlock pouted but stood up, tucking his Blackberry in his coat pocket before stomping down the stairs and out of the flat. The sun was bright and he had to shield his eyes from the rays. There was a gentle breeze, just enough to keep a person cool should the sun not disappear behind a cloud for very long. Overall it was a nice day; not that Sherlock would ever concede to that fact aloud.

'Okay, follow me. We're going to the park,' John said, closing and locking the door behind them. He held the umbrella over his shoulder, like Mycroft did when he was being a pompous arse, which was always. Sherlock scowled, shoving his hands in his pockets and followed John. John began whistling a random tune, making Sherlock scowl further. John was too cheerful sometimes for his dark moods, but he found the whistling less irritating than usual. He supposed it was because of the Vitamin D soaking into his skin from the sun. He was always more cheerful when the sun was out. John even more so.

Dark clouds started forming overhead, John's whistling stopping as he frowned up at the sky. He wasn't going to tell Sherlock he told him so, but, well, he  _had_  told him. It didn't start raining until they reached the park, thankfully. It was just sprinkles at first, the sun still shining. But then a massive, almost black cloud, wedged its way in front of the sun and the rain started picking up. John didn't open the umbrella until it started coming down heavily. Sherlock merely stood off to the side, getting drenched in the downpour. He looked like a wet cat, utterly miserable at getting so wet.

'You berk,' John smiled. 'Come on. We can share. You don't even have to touch the bloody thing if you don't want.'

'I'm fine,' Sherlock lied. The rain had already soaked his coat and he was shivering like mad.

'No, you aren't fine,' John sighed, budging closer to Sherlock and raising the umbrella higher so it was over Sherlock's head. 'Come here.' He wrapped an arm around Sherlock's waist, like it was completely natural to do so, and pulled him against him. His coat was soaked, the water seeping through John's own coat and jumper. Sherlock stiffened at the contact but allowed the touch. It felt… comforting.

'Thanks,' he rasped out, shifting closer to John's body heat. The small man was like a space heater. It was something Sherlock particularly enjoyed, not that he would tell John.

'You're welcome,' John smiled softly. He adjusted his hold on Sherlock's waist, managing to slip his hand into Sherlock's pocket to keep his hand warm. 'You're an idiot.'

'I know.'

John grinned and walked them back to Baker Street, arms around each other's waists and smiles on their faces. Once they had changed and were warm and dry, John made tea and they sat in front of a small fire. It was surprisingly domestic for the two of them, but it was comfortable and familiar. Eventually Sherlock got up and started playing the violin. John poured himself another cuppa and sipped it idly as he listed to Sherlock's composition. He found his eyes closing and let the calm sweep over him, a soft hum escaping as he relaxed into his chair.

With his eyes closed he could remember the weight of Sherlock against him, his hand in his coat pocket curling against his side almost unconsciously, and how he'd really, really liked being that close to him. A scene began playing out where they were still in the park but where Sherlock had taken the umbrella without protest. His arm wrapped around John's waist and pulled him close, John reciprocating the almost hug. Suddenly, Sherlock spun John around and pulled him close, John's arms flying around Sherlock's waist to keep himself from falling over. He looked up at Sherlock just as he leant down to kiss him. John gasped in the fantasy and in real life. He'd spilt his hot tea all over himself, his hand having relaxed during his daydreaming and releasing the cup, and its contents, all over his lap and abdomen. He sighed in exasperation, ignoring Sherlock's bemused chuckle, and stood to put the cup in the sink and to put some dry pyjamas on. He needed to go to bed anyway. He had an early shift in the morning and he needed his rest.

His dreams were mostly comprised of his daydream. Sherlock leaning down to kiss him in the rain, sometimes without an umbrella which made the whole thing look like something out of  _The Notebook_. He woke up hard after having only slept a few hours, the notes of Sherlock's violin still loud and clear. John groaned and rolled over, ignoring his erection and forcing himself back into a restless sleep.

Sherlock, of course, stayed up all night trying to figure out what the strange flutterings in his stomach had been while John's arm was around him. His crazy dream had told him it might be love, but was it really that intense? What if it was merely attraction or lust? Infatuation perhaps? Whatever it was, it kept him up all night, playing his violin until his fingertips began to bleed. He didn't stop until he felt a firm grip on his elbow and saw John in his peripheral vision. John took the violin and the bow and placed them on the desk, taking Sherlock over to the kitchen sink to wash his hand and apply some ointment to his fingertips. He wished John would hold his hand more often, but he knew John didn't like men the way he liked women, and he would never accept Sherlock's feelings. Despite his inner turmoil, Sherlock could read John like he was an open book. He was distressed about something, and it was causing him to stand further away from him than he normally did. He was still gentle when putting the ointment on his fingertips, but as soon as they were bandaged he left for his room again. Sherlock glanced at the clock and noted it was nearly seven a.m. He really had played the violin all night seeing as John had to get ready for work now. He sighed and went into his bedroom to sleep until John came home from the surgery. He stripped out of his clothes and crawled into bed completely starkers. He listened for the sounds of John preparing to leave, hearing his footsteps plain as day upstairs as he got dressed, then on the stairs as he came down to make tea and toast, and then out the door to hail a cab. Sherlock sighed and closed his eyes, forcing himself to fall asleep and wait for John to come home.

His dreams were filled with scenes of him and John on their walk, only this time Sherlock stopped them in the middle of the path as it began raining. He clasped John's hands and opened his mouth to speak, but no words came out. He couldn't voice his feelings for his blogger, and the longer he went without talking the more hysterical and angry he became. It wasn't until he crushed his lips to John's that his friend understood what he was trying to say. Sherlock seemed to be having multiple versions of the dream though as John simultaneously rejected him, slapped him, pulled away to stare blankly at him, and kissed him back with such vigor Sherlock nearly jumped him right there and then. His mind focussed mainly on the rejection and the reciprocation, playing them over and over, the scenes constantly changing until only the reciprocation remained and they were in Sherlock's bed, tangled in the sheets as they pleasured one another.

Sherlock woke with a strangled moan and cum staining his sheets. He groaned and turned over, ignoring the feeling of ecstasy and going back to sleep, somehow managing to sleep dreamlessly for the rest of the day. He just hoped John wouldn't arrive home early and come in to check on him only to discover him sleeping in sheets soiled by his own ejaculation. He shuddered internally at the imagined embarrassment and tossed the thought aside, delving into his mind palace to play some of his composed pieces in his mind to lull him to a more peaceful sleep. Dealing with John would come later. For now he really should rest for John's and his own sake.

**Author's Note:**

> The degree measurement is in Celsius, just so no one is all like 'Ten degrees?! But that's freezing!' It's in Celsius, which is 50 in Fahrenheit.
> 
> Thanks to all of you who have given this series a look and even some comments and kudos on it too. Part 5 is under construction but it might not be posted for a bit seeing as it's time for midterms and I need to focus on studying for those. So I'll start working on it next week and will hopefully have it up before Halloween. See you then!
> 
> ~TSA


End file.
